


Miracle Man

by lilleeboi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - College/University, Asexual Semi Eita, Autism, Autistic Ushijima Wakatoshi, Homophobia, Ice Cream Parlors, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plants, Sex Work, Sex Worker Tendou Satori, Slow Burn, neurodivergent characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:02:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26978539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilleeboi/pseuds/lilleeboi
Summary: Ushijima stares at Satori, brows raised a mere millimetre. He seems... surprised, Satori decides, to see someone other than Goshiki working at the kiosk.“Oh!” Goshiki flushes. “Ushijima-san, this is Tendou Satori, the other employee here. Remember, I mentioned him before?”“Yes,” Ushijima says.Well, of course he does. Everyone knows about Tendou Satori.
Relationships: Semi Eita & Tendou Satori, Tendou Satori/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 22
Kudos: 92





	1. Plant Man

**Author's Note:**

> So... this is my incredibly self-indulgent college AU, for which I have painstakingly mapped out character traits and the community they live in. I've never been a sex worker in Japan, and everyone's story of sex work is different, so I can't guarantee how accurate this portrayal will be to the experiences of Japanese full service sex workers. All I can promise is my intention to approach Satori's story with sensitivity. 
> 
> Thanks to [irleggsy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/irleggsy/profile) for beta-reading and being the ultimate hype man!

There are worse things, he supposes, than working at the dairy bar. He has shelter from the sun, an electric fan, lots of chocolate ice cream, and he’s getting paid. All things considered, it could be a _lot_ worse, he knows. The kiosk overlooks a large park in a college town; he has a nice view of the playground and the skate park, and about half of a volleyball court. He can see customers approaching at least a minute ahead of time, so he can sit comfortably with a manga in his lap on the not-so-busy days. On the busier days, he has help from the part-timer, Goshiki.

Today is one of the not-so-busy days. The weather is mild, so the pace of customers is relaxed; no one is in a rush to get their ice cream and Satori has the place to himself.

He peeks over the pages of this week’s _Shonen Jump_ to see a pair of potential customers moseying over; a guy who looks to be his own age and a little girl, taking their sweet time. When they finally make it up to the front counter, he stands and gives his best customer service smile.

The kid seems unfazed—it’s always hit-or-miss, whether kids find him intimidating or not—but the guy eyes him with displeasure. It’s not just unease with his appearance; it’s a look of familiar disgust, like this guy knows exactly who he is and has already decided he isn’t a fan. It’s not surprising.

Everyone knows about Tendou Satori.

Well, okay… maybe not _everyone_ , but it sure seems like a lot of people do.

The guy awkwardly coughs, like he’s only just realized he’s making things _weird_ by glaring at the ice cream man _._

“What can I get you today?” Satori asks wryly, ice cream scoop already in hand.

The guy clears his throat again, obviously uncomfortable, and nudges the kid to his left. “She’ll have a single scoop of chocolate.”

Satori grins at the little girl. “Chocolate, huh?” 

The kid nods enthusiastically and grins right back, revealing several missing baby teeth.

“Chocolate’s the best!” he sings. “What kind of cone would you like?”

“Just plain,” the guy supplies. “And I’ll have two scoops of strawberry, also in a plain cone.”

“Gotcha,” Satori says, maintaining a friendly demeanor as he scoops.

When their interaction is finally over, he plops back down into his chair and scowls. Yeah, it’s a sweet job. But he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to get over the judgement and disrespect he gets from customers like that.

It grates on his sensitive nerves. Day after day, customer after customer, scoop after scoop. He can practically _hear_ the thoughts running through their heads. _Faggot, cocksucker, ugly, monster, freak, whore_ ; he’s heard it all and he doesn’t enjoy being the subject of every other snide comment. 

He doesn’t regret who he is, the choices he made, any of that. He should be used to being looked down on by now, but it still hurts.

Anyway, he likes this job. It’s a good job.

He serves a few more customers, some polite and others not so much, before the traffic in the park starts to steadily dwindle. 

The sun sets and he begins tidying up the bar and packing up his things. He hangs his striped apron on a hook next to the door and stretches, his knuckles brushing the low ceiling. He’s a few minutes early closing, but it’s not like anyone is around. After making sure everything is locked securely, he begins the trek back to his apartment, swinging his arms as he walks.

He knows his roommate won’t be there when he gets home; Semi has practice every night lately, even on weekends. And, sure enough, when Satori barges in – “I’m home!” – he receives no response. The apartment is blissfully still.

He’s glad, in a way. Satori likes being around other people, but the peace of a dim, empty apartment is nice sometimes. Sometimes, it’s nice to do nothing important. Sometimes, his mind is enough chaos on its own.

Satori settles himself on the couch, scrolling aimlessly through social media. He only stops scrolling when he sees a video posted by one of Semi’s bandmates. Several of the players are doubled over in laughter, guffaws and unintelligible bellows echoing in the practice room, including those of the person filming. Only Semi looks on, clearly unamused. There’s no context other than a caption under the post reading: _plant man came back._

He has no idea what it means, and he doesn’t care. He ‘likes’ the post and continues scrolling. 

It’s an hour later when the front door slams loudly enough to hurt his ears that Satori is jolted out of the world of social media. The first thing he thinks of is that the dour expression on his roommate’s face in that video might have been something serious.

“Welcome home,” Satori says, gently as he can. “You’re home early. Did something happen?”

Semi grunts, seemingly trying to contain his wrath before he opens his mouth. “Don’t want to talk about it.” It doesn’t really work; he sounds _pissed._ He disappears into his room before Satori can ask any more questions. Even separated by the door as a buffer, he can _feel_ Semi fuming.

Later that evening, Satori leaves a note for Semi – an address – on the kitchen counter before slipping out, not wanting to poke the bear, but still following his usual safety measures.

During the summer months, the evening air is much cooler than the blazing heat of the day. For Satori, the relationship between his night life and day life is just like the temperature, his activities in stark contrast with each other. 

He approaches the dorm building he was given the address to—the same one he left on the note for Semi—and shoots a text to the guy he’s supposed to be meeting. He’s met up with this guy, Kamasaki, a few times before. He’s big and kind of mean, Satori recalls. He’s scary, but not as scary as Satori.

When Kamasaki comes down to let him in, he’s frowning, remaining silent the whole way up the flight of stairs to the first floor.

Several groups of students gather around their ring leaders, poorly attempting to hide their drunken states while giggling to each other. _Probably a lot of first years_ , he muses. Further down the hall, the students are less intent on huddling together, content just to chat across the corridor from the openings of their rooms. A few of the older ones seem to recognize Satori, throwing him glances that range from amused to hostile.

Kamasaki stops in front of one of the bathrooms and a blush rises on his cheeks. “Roommate’s home tonight,” he explains. “This will be fine.”

_Fine with you, maybe_ , Satori inwardly grimaces. He does not want to suck this guy off in a shared bathroom. “Whatever makes you comfortable, Kamasaki-san,” he purrs, putting on that customer service smile he’s, unfortunately, so used to employing lately.

When the bathroom door clicks behind him, he turns to face Kamasaki, who is just a hair shorter than him, but burly. His bleached hair is a gross ashy colour and his sideburns are wiry and unkempt. He looks lonely.

Satori holds out his hand. When the cash lands in his palm, he counts it before stashing it away into the pocket of his jeans and sinking to his knees.

“No talking,” Kamasaki reminds him gruffly, unbuckling his belt.

“I know, I know,” Satori says softly, giving a thumbs up. He wouldn’t _want_ to talk anyway, not with practically the whole dorm being within earshot.

A hand winds into his hair—he left it down just for this reason—and guides him to the bulge in Kamasaki’s pants. Satori unzips the fly and works both the trousers and underwear down to reveal a half-hard cock. He spits on his hand before stroking it slowly, pumping and twisting his wrist until it’s fully erect.

Satori wraps his lips around Kamasaki’s cock and begins to bob his head, eyes peering up every so often to watch for a reaction. Kamasaki’s eyes are closed and his free hand—the one that isn’t tangled in Satori’s hair—is being bitten to muffle his grunts.

_Good._

Satori goes through the motions.

He catches spunk in his palm, washing it down the drain with soap and water while Kamasaki recovers.

“Good?” Satori asks when Kamasaki lingers.

Kamasaki nods.

“I’m gonna go then.” Satori doesn’t bother being subtle as he leaves the bathroom. He pointedly ignores any judgmental looks on his way out; the last thing he needs is to let a bunch of drunk college kids get him down.

But it’s not easy to stay positive after _that_ , so Satori starts humming to himself to block out the noise of his insecurities. Kamasaki isn’t the most pleasant client to deal with—especially since he often insists on cash, ugh—and even though the humming is really helping him feel better, Satori thinks he should probably dance too, because tonight was a double-whammy: rude client _and_ rude onlookers.

Satori dances to his own song all the way home.

When he lets himself into their apartment, he wanders into the kitchen—the only room with a light on—where Semi is furiously kneading dough, glaring at it like it’s some kind of menace.

“I see you made it home safe,” he huffs. “I’m making bread.”

“At this hour? Wow!” Satori tries to sound enthusiastic.

Semi looks… unimpressed.

Satori shrugs it off and says, more carefully, “Is there anything you want to talk about?”

Semi ignores the question at first, focusing his energy on his wrath bread. Eventually, he stills. “...Yes….” 

It’s a very tentative ‘yes,’ but Satori knows how difficult it is for Semi to talk about his own feelings. Satori just has to wait patiently for his friend’s waffling on words before anything actually comes out his mouth. Satori makes himself comfortable, used to this by now, while he waits for Semi to spill the beans. And it takes several minutes of Semi’s grumbling and that terrible teeth-grinding habit for the beans to really start spilling.

“There’s a student who does work landscaping and gardening and stuff on campus and… he takes really good care of the plants.”

_Oh, plant man_ , Satori thinks. “Okay?”

“And he has a cart of plants that he sometimes takes around the music building. Some of the guys think it’s funny, whatever. It bothered me a bit, but it wasn’t a big deal.”

Satori can already sense where this is going. Semi has had tiffs with his bandmates in the past, and it wouldn’t surprise Satori if it happened again.

“Yesterday, and again today, he wanted to leave one of the plants in our practice room because apparently it really likes our music,” Semi smiles wistfully for a moment before his expression turns sour again, his words coming out faster and faster. “And the guys started making fun of him and he was confused—because he just wanted to let his plant listen to some fucking music—and they just kept making fun of him and it made me really fucking _pissed off,_ man.” He stops to take a deep breath. “And they said some things that really rubbed me the wrong way. They kept bringing it up for the rest of practice, too.”

Satori waits to see if his friend has anything else to get off his chest before saying, “That was really shitty of them to do, huh?”

Semi nods solemnly. “I was so upset I couldn’t even finish rehearsal. But maybe I’m overreacting because of, _you know_ … my sister.”

Satori does know. Semi’s sister is on the spectrum and still has a hard time with bullying at school. And while, of course Satori feels badly about the situation, he secretly thinks it’s cute how much of a family man Semi really is behind his prickly personality. It’s been years since they moved to Kyoto together, but sometimes Semi still cries from missing his sister. Satori knows his friend’s heart _aches_ for the bullying to stop, but there’s nothing he can do from here.

“Do you think I’m making a big deal out of nothing?” Semi asks. His forehead is wrinkled—the sign of a truly troubled Semi Eita—and his jaw moves with the gritting of his teeth.

“I don’t think you’re overreacting. Guys like that make excuses for why it’s okay to make fun of someone, but there’s literally no good reason to be a jerk.”

A small, relieved smile breaks through Semi’s troubled expression. “Thanks for your input,” he mumbles. “You’re a good friend.”

“Awwww, Semi-Semi!” It’s not insincere. Satori genuinely appreciates the sentiment. “You’re a good friend, too.”

_Understatement of the year._ Even before leaving home, Semi has been his closest relationship. It wouldn’t matter if he were a good friend or not, Satori is just glad he has Semi in his life. Luckily for him, Semi is pretty much the best.

“So, how was _your_ day?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. A few customers didn’t like me, some of them _definitely_ knew who I was.” Satori blinks. “I also gave a blowjob in a dorm toilet.”

“Huh.”

They spend the rest of the night together in the kitchen as the bread bakes in the oven. They paint each other’s nails—black for Semi and red for Satori—and eat warm bread while bickering, lovingly, as best friends do. And when Satori’s alarm wakes him the next morning, he finds himself slouched over with his cheek pressed to the counter.

* * *

Saturdays are the busiest days at the dairy bar. Last summer, it got so busy within the first month, the owners decided that moving forward they would have to hire a second employee just for the busy days.

Enter Goshiki Tsutomu, an enthusiastic and hard-working high school senior. Satori _adored_ him. This year, Goshiki is a little different, a little older, but still as lovable as ever. He enjoys talking about his studies at college and always pretends to care about whatever manga Satori is reading. Now that Goshiki has graduated high school, it’s not weird for them to hang out after work on occasion, and they always have fun.

Satori and Goshiki serve a steady flow of customers through the morning until the busy hours around lunchtime when keeping up with orders is dizzying and scooping ice cream becomes a competition.

There’s a lull around 3 pm and Satori settles into his chair, glad for the break. His back aches—although that may be partly due to sleeping on the kitchen counter. He mulls over the idea of taking a power nap in the chair. It might not be such a bad idea, especially since he has an intensive client booked for after work.

But before he can rest his eyes, Goshiki clears his throat.

Satori fixes his gaze on his junior and does his best to look non-threatening. “What’s up, Goshiki-kun?”

Goshiki gulps audibly. “Can I ask you something, Tendou-senpai?” 

“Go for it,” Satori offers finger guns as if “shooting” them will release some of the tension in the air.

Goshiki fumbles with his words uncomfortably until he finally manages to form a coherent sentence. “There are rumours about you.”

“People love to talk,” Satori says, nodding, eyes narrowed. He is all too aware of the rumours about himself.

“I have always respected you and looked up to you, senpai. It hurts me to hear people say such horrible things about you.” _God bless this child._

“Are the things they say really that horrible? Or is it their intention that you don’t like?”

Goshiki’s eyes widen, thoughtful.

Satori isn’t stupid. He knows that as sweet as the kid can be, Goshiki is probably just as prejudiced as anyone. His unworldliness has the potential to be both an endearment and a downfall. Satori wouldn’t be surprised if Goshiki were scared or repulsed by the prospects of drugs, sex work, or queerness. But Satori hopes that Goshiki is more open-minded than that, that a little positive guidance might make him think.

“Let me tell you something,” Satori says, leaning forward in his seat. It’s not meant to look intimidating, but rather an attempt at appearing more friendly. “Bullies don’t disappear after school. Bullies exist in college and at work and in families. Age or status can’t protect you; the only way forward is to do your best and be yourself, proudly.”

Goshiki sputters, “B-but, senpai! If you know about it, how can you stand by and let it happen?”

“Trying to stop them will only fuel the fire. Besides,” Satori chuckles ruefully, heart heavy. “Many of them are true! To defend myself would be lying.” He is many things, but a _liar_ is not one of them.

“I see….” Goshiki sounds disappointed, but not bitter.

“However,” Satori smiles, straightening up in his seat. “I’m sorry to hear that your feelings were hurt, Goshiki-kun.”

Goshiki flushes bright red and stiffly turns around to wipe the spotless counters. 

Satori doesn’t mind the quiet, doesn’t mind letting his junior stew in his own embarrassment for a while—if he’s being honest, he’s surprised this is the first time Goshiki has brought it up. Whether he’s been bubbling with curiosity for ages, or he just managed to avoid the gossip until recently, Satori isn’t sure. He hopes for the sake of Goshiki’s innocence that it’s the latter. He almost regrets being so honest. _Almost_.

Satori gets so engrossed in his thoughts that he startles when Goshiki greets a customer. 

“Ushijima-san! Welcome to the dairy bar!” Goshiki sounds immensely pleased, like he’s relieved to be saved from a monstrous hush.

Satori picks up his copy of _Jump_ and idly listens to the conversation while he skims the page to find his spot.

The customer has a deep, monotonous voice. “I am here to buy the ice cream you recommended.”

“What would you like?”

“I would like the ice cream you recommended,” the customer repeats.

Goshiki falters. “I – I only recommended that you come here, Ushijima-san. I’m asking what _flavour_ you want to get.”

Satori chokes, trying to conceal a bark of laughter at Goshiki’s deflated tone. 

“Oh,” is all he, the customer, says.

“We have many flavours to choose from, so please pick whatever you’d like!” Goshiki is using his customer service voice again, but it sounds strangely forced, like a poorly-landed joke. They obviously know each other.

After several hums and haws, Ushijima still seems to be having a great deal of trouble deciding what to order and another group of customers is starting to make their way over, so Satori swoops in to help. “I highly recommend the chocolate,” he quips. He stands up to look like a good employee and fetch samples if necessary. 

Ushijima stares at Satori, brows raised a mere millimetre. He seems... surprised, Satori decides, to see someone other than Goshiki working at the kiosk. 

“Oh!” Goshiki flushes. “Ushijima-san, this is Tendou Satori, the other employee here. Remember, I mentioned him before?”

“Yes,” Ushijima says. 

“Can I get you a sample?” Satori offers.

Ushijima considers the offer and nods once. “Yes.” 

Satori uses one of the adorably tiny spoons to scoop some of the chocolate ice cream and passes it over the counter.

Ushijima is very delicate with the spoon, holding it between his thumb and his forefinger as he lifts it to the tongue poking out from his lips. He recoils when it touches his tongue, but his expression hardly changes. He tastes it again and nods stiffly. “I will have one scoop of this flavour in a bowl.”

Goshiki gets to work scooping chocolate ice cream from the tub as Satori tends to the next customer. Even after the other customers have all been served, Ushijima is still there, stirring his ice cream with a spoon. 

Satori leans over the counter, wrists hanging off the edge, and tilts his head quizzically. “Is this the first time you’ve had ice cream, Ushijima-san?”

“Since I was very small, yes,” he replies after furrowing his brow in thought. “I wasn’t allowed to eat dairy for many years because my mother believed I had an allergy.”

Before Satori can inquire further, his train of thought is interrupted by a familiar notification _ping_ coming from his pocket. It’s the sound his phone makes when someone—likely tonight’s scheduled client—pays him. 

“Do you need to check that?” Goshiki asks hesitantly, nervously, like he’s worried Satori could get in trouble for having his phone on.

“Nah,” Satori grins, and he knows it probably looks predatory, but can’t hamper his delight. “I know exactly what it is.” And then he says, “I won’t get fired for having my phone on, Goshiki-kun.”

As if startled that Satori can read him so well, Goshiki straightens himself and purses his lips. “If you say so.”

Ushijima gazes at the dairy bar employees unblinkingly, still working his way through the ice cream, stirring it slowly between bites. 

“Ah, Ushijima-san,” Goshiki says sheepishly. “We have to close up pretty soon, but I’ll catch up with you at the dorms, okay?”

Ushijima nods in understanding. “Are these spoons recyclable?”

“I don’t think so,” Satori supplies when Goshiki shoots him a panicked look. It’s not a common question.

“Oh,” Ushijima sounds neither relieved, nor disappointed, but his face betrays a hint of dissatisfaction. Satori can relate—they really shouldn’t be using plastic spoons anymore. “See you, Goshiki.” 

Ushijima walks away with a sense of purpose—and honestly, if Satori had a god-like ass to display like that, he would walk with purpose, too.

“Does his butt always look like that?” Satori wonders aloud, and giggles when Goshiki’s cheeks turn ruddy with annoyance.

“ _Senpai!_ ” he scolds, mortified.

“I’m just asking!”

They start to close up the kiosk in amicable silence. 

“So…” Satori begins, tempering his tone to (hopefully) sound less prying. “Who’s your little friend?” 

“Ushijima?” Goshiki asks and Satori nods. “I wouldn’t say we’re _friends_ , exactly. Reon’s his peer helper, too, and their rooms are right next to each other.” 

Satori and Reon are in the same program, so Satori is pretty familiar with him, even without Goshiki’s rambling stories about his peer helper. The part of him that feels protective over his underclassman was very satisfied to learn that such a capable and kind person would be Goshiki’s peer helper, at least for his first year.

Goshiki continues, “We run into each other a lot and he seems nice, so we talk sometimes.”

“I see, I see,” says Satori, as he locks up behind them. 

Before they part ways, Satori nudges the younger affectionately, ruffling his bowl cut.

“Have fun with your not-friend!”

“You too,” Goshiki says, and Satori just laughs at the awkward reply.

* * *

“I’m home!” Satori unlocks the door to an empty apartment—Semi must be back at rehearsal again, despite yesterday’s upset. 

He heads into the kitchen in search of sustenance and shoves the last heel of Semi’s wrath bread into his mouth. He chews slowly and guzzles a glass of water to help get it down. He doesn’t feel like eating anything else, but knows he probably should. He _knows_ if he doesn’t eat a proper supper Semi will try to force something healthy into his stomach later, but it’s not worth the effort of making real food that he doesn’t want right now. 

Locking himself into his room, Satori flicks on his lamp before getting situated at his desk and pulling out his phone.

Just as he suspected, the notification from earlier was a payment from Ikejiri.

Ikejiri is… an _interesting_ client. He’s _very_ chatty, often causing their session to surpass the agreed-upon time limit. From what Satori can tell, Ikejiri’s life consists of flipping burgers and writing articles for a sports blog, saving to pay for an hour of Satori’s time every few weeks. 

After double-checking he received the correct deposit, Satori dials Ikejiri’s number. The line rings exactly once before someone picks up. 

“ _Hello?_ ” 

“It’s Satori.”

“ _Satori!_ ” The young man on the other end sounds pleased, but not surprised.

Whereas most of Satori’s clients are fellow college students, Ikejiri is possibly one of only a few exceptions. He refuses to meet in-person, so their sessions always take place over the phone, and—despite his apparent love for chit-chat—he’s been fairly adamant about maintaining his privacy, specifically concerning his face. 

Even if Ikejiri attended the same school, even if they were in a class together, Satori isn’t sure he’d notice. Satori wouldn’t say he’s _bad_ with names, per se, but names are no good without a face to pair them with. Without a face, Ikejiri is just a stranger who schedules semi-regular phone calls with a sex worker. Not that he’d ever be anything more than a client anyway—Satori doubts he could ever fall for a client.

“Did you miss me?” Satori croons into the phone. One thing he’s learned from over-the-phone sessions is that it’s a lot harder than just talking into a device; the distance of his lips from the speaker, how much voice he gives his vowels, it’s all important. It’s actually a lot like those ASMR videos that Semi likes so much, he thinks.

Something rustles on the other end—probably Ikejiri shifting positions. “ _I did miss you._ ”

Satori likes to get as much of his client’s chatterbox tendencies out of the way early on in the session if possible, so he jumps right in with the small talk. “How was your day?” 

“ _It was good._ ” Ikejiri’s voice sounds breathy. “ _I was restless after work, so I went for a run. I worked up a good sweat - almost forgot about our call! Luckily I didn’t, though._ ”

Satori clicks his tongue, lips brushing the speaker. He makes sure his voice is barely above a whisper when he says, “I know you’d never forget about this. Don’t lie, baby.”

And there it is, the audible gasp on the other end, the reaction like clockwork; every time Satori says _baby_ or _babe,_ Ikejiri gets in a tizzy. For what reason, Satori doesn’t know, but it’s surefire ammunition for a satisfied client, so he uses it as liberally as he can without tiring it out.

Ikejiri agrees. “ _You’re right, of course!_ ” If he was breathy before, he’s now breathless, desperate for Satori’s validation. “ _I would never forget about you, Satori._ ”

_This_ is something Satori revels in. It’s possibly his favourite part of this job. He loves the feeling of being wanted, of being desired so fiercely by lonely people, or people who aren’t so lonely, so much as distracted, too caught up in their to-dos to bear their sexual frustrations alone. And Satori wonders, what is it that makes every client tick, what can he do to unravel them completely, to tear them apart and see inside them? It’s this skill—the wondering, that is—that gets people hooked on Satori. He’s always been good at reading people, and he knows how easy it is for his clients to submit their shames to someone who can seem instantly comfortable and familiar with their most intimate conscience. So, he uses it like a weapon, and that way his fragile dignity remains uncoloured by their shame.

The power rush from serving clients like Ikejiri more than makes up for the discomfort of toilet blowjobs.

He likes this job. It’s a good job.

“Are you comfortable, baby?” he asks, using a purposely sultry lilt as he speaks.

“ _Yeah,_ ” Ikejiri’s voice is _so_ small, so… _hopeful,_ Satori thinks gleefully.

He considers briefly what that says about him. That is, what kind of issues must Satori have to get such sick satisfaction from the wants of a stranger.

Satori licks his lips, just close enough to the speaker that he knows his client can hear it. “Tell me what you’re wearing.”

Satori works him up, asks him questions, draws things out as long as possible—once Ikejiri gets his hands on his dick, he can finish in minutes—teasing Ikejiri with his words much like one would engage in foreplay with a lover to enhance their experience. 

The rest of their session passes without a hitch. The auto-pilot dirty talk and lewd instructions are already fading from the periphery of Satori’s memory. Ikejiri spends the last ten minutes panting in the aftermath of an—apparently very good—orgasm as he regales Satori with more vague details about his week.

Today, it’s only three minutes after the hour when Satori finds a space in Ikejiri’s monologue to interrupt him. “Baby?”

“ _Hm?_ ”

“The hour is already up.”

“ _Is that so?_ ” Ikejiri’s laugh is cheerless and forced. “ _It always feels so short!_ ”

“I know,” Satori teases, not unkindly. “My offer still stands, by the way.” He refers to a pre-recorded session—one that Ikejiri can listen to whenever he wants.

But, as usual, Ikejiri is quick to decline. “ _No, thank you.”_

“It doesn’t mean you can’t still book me for calls, you know.” 

Ikejiri hums. “ _I’ll think about it._ ” But they both know he won’t change his mind.

“Alright,” Satori sighs. He doesn’t get why his client is so resistant to the idea of a recorded message—his intuition isn’t nearly as sharp without the in-person interaction. It’s not like Satori doesn’t enjoy the money that comes with such a devoted client, but these call-in sessions are a lot harder than just fucking face-to-face, so it would be nice to have longer breaks between calls. “Have a good night.”

  
“ _Goodnight, Satori_.” And with that, the line goes dead.


	2. (My Penis Has a) Private Number

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays! I've had this chapter written for a while, but I didn't have time to edit because research statistics class was kicking my butt. Anyway, it's still not fully edited, so I may come back and fix things up later, but I got impatient. I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint ಥ◡ಥ

Looking back, Satori can pinpoint some defining moments in the development of his sexuality. It was a gradual realization. Starting with being a “late bloomer,” not as interested in girls as his peers in middle school, having his first crush on that sourpuss boy in the ninth grade, the unfortunate and reoccurring wet dream about Naruto and Sasuke, and his admittedly _regrettable_ knack for getting out of sticky situations using his mouth around when he started high school—a few of his bullies were _surprisingly_ accepting of blowjobs in exchange for a quiet lunch period. And, of course, there was _him_ , the two-year crush of Satori’s high school career.

In his last year of high school, Satori had his heart broken for the first time. It’s his own fault for blocking out the embarrassing memories of his crush, but he doesn’t even remember _his_ name anymore (or tries not to), barely remembers what _his_ face looked like, just that _he_ was tall and broad like an athlete, but _he_ wasn’t athletically inclined at all; they were in the art club together and they both liked manga. Satori remembers how quiet and gentle _he_ was and more vividly, how hard he worked on his confession letter leading up to graduation.

He never ended up delivering the letter. He didn’t need to, because when he was outed only a week before graduation—caught deepthroating his bully behind the school and called into the office—suddenly _he_ didn’t want anything to do with Satori. 

That last week was a living hell for Satori, even without the burning humiliation of the situation. His tormentors blamed Satori for what happened and made sure his life was as miserable as possible. His parents were notified by the school and fought constantly, blaming each other for their faggot son. But worst of all was the feeling of being rejected by his crush; not a “sorry, I don’t feel the same way” and now things are awkward between us rejection, but an “I’m going to pretend you don’t exist because I think you’re disgusting” kind of rejection. And it _hurt._

Satori remembers spending the night before graduation at Semi’s house, trying to get away from his parents’ scorn, and trying to hide his broken sobs deep within his red sleeping bag.

It turned out that Semi was more perceptive than Satori gave him credit for. They hadn’t talked about what happened before then—hardly even spoke to each other at school for Semi’s protection, but when Semi unzipped his crying friend’s sleeping bag and found Satori curled up in an awkward teenage ball of gawky limbs, tears tracking down his cheeks, all he needed to say was: “It’s going to be okay, Satori.”

Satori spent the rest of that night in a tight embrace on Semi’s bed. Semi stroked his head, brushing vibrant red hair away from his sweat-damp forehead, and shushed him softly into the morning.

Later, Satori would make fun of Semi for being so motherly, but they both knew it was just a front to disguise the uncomfortable vulnerability that teenage boys are loath to share. Semi had always been a good friend, but from that point on things were _different_. They were in this for the long haul, and they both knew it.

Satori’s previous plans to stay home and attend the local university quickly flew out the window when his parents made it clear he was no longer welcome in their house—so he gladly took Semi’s idea of moving away to the same college and renting a small apartment together in Kyoto.

It was the best decision Satori ever made.

Although he’s embarrassed to admit it, Satori didn’t cope so well away from his hometown. He was _wild_ in his first year of college. He went to parties every weekend to drink too much cheap alcohol, smoke too much weed, and sleep around with anyone who cared to let him, so desperate to be liked. He was so caught up in his newfound freedom—liberated by his exile—that he stopped caring about anything else, for a time.

He doesn’t recall the exact details, but he has a hazy memory of the first time someone offered to pay him for sex. Satori knew he was good—he _better_ have been good after so much practice—but he didn’t realize he was _that_ good. He was high as balls, consciousness floating in and out of bliss, slurping at a cock that was girthier than he was used to. Satori remembers being confused when they asked _how much_ , because surely they didn’t expect he would want to be reimbursed for the condom, right? But he was too inebriated to ask for clarification. 

He woke up in his own apartment with a wad of cash laid on his desk. And when he asked Semi where it came from, his roommate shrugged, mumbling something about someone named M. 

Later, Satori would find out that M was the alias of his upperclassman. M was several years older with a scruffy goatee and a perpetually bored expression—except in the bedroom; there, he was all smiles and open mouth—and he was apparently a regular client of local sex workers, which Satori found shocking at the time. M was very interested in Satori and wanted to maintain contact, so he continued paying Satori for sexual favours on a semi-regular basis until he graduated.

Satori doesn’t know if M spoke of their agreement with other people, or if other students had simply noticed something was up, but he suddenly started being solicited more and more often. And, honestly, who was Satori to refuse money for something he would probably be doing anyway? 

He’s learned a lot since then; about budgeting and advertising, confidentiality and professionalism, using a cash app, sex work in general, and most importantly: how to stay out of trouble. He learned that the hard way.

A particularly unfortunate incident involving a cheating boyfriend led to Satori’s information—including his name, phone number, and some pretty incriminating photos—being leaked across campus.

He took all the right steps to combat the harassment he received. He kept his clients out of the apartment, got a new phone, even though it meant losing contact with some of his clients, and took extra precautions with his business. He started to treat it more seriously, understanding the very real consequences of being careless—not that it was his fault to begin with—but the damage had been done. 

Satori has a private number now. He only shares it with his friends, never with clients; they can reach him through a messaging app where he can keep his work separate from his personal texts.

That’s why it’s especially concerning when he wakes up to a notification of an unread message from an unknown number. 

_I can’t deal with this right now_ , he thinks, so he hauls himself out of bed and leaves his phone face-down on the red sleeping bag he uses in place of a comforter.

Semi is already up, scowling at the kettle. 

As a general rule, neither of them speak to each other before they’ve had coffee—it usually leads to an argument—unless it’s an emergency, like that time Satori broke the plunger trying to unclog the toilet and then tried to clean up the overflow with Semi’s white towel and…. Anyway. Neither of them are morning people.

Satori has to bite back the nasty urge to tease, _don’t you know a watched kettle never boils, Semi-Semi_? He watches reticently as Semi grows more annoyed with each passing moment; he looks like he might boil before the kettle does.

The jar of instant coffee granules is already out, but Satori’s hot chocolate is _conveniently_ absent, so he fetches it from the cupboard himself before scooping what he wants of each into his favourite mug. 

When the kettle whistles, Semi turns off the element before elbowing Satori out of the way while he pours the hot water into their mugs.

They sit side by side at the kitchen counter, sipping their scalding drinks in synchrony. Satori slurps his, purely for the sake of being a little shit, and Semi’s eyes narrow over the lip of his mug, maintaining eye contact as he tilts his head back and chugs the last of his coffee.

It’s not unusual for there to be some friction between them first thing in the morning, but Satori can sense something else is amiss. Semi is clearly on edge, not just annoyed, but agitated. Anyone else might not have noticed it, but Satori recognizes the wrinkle in his best friend’s brow for what it is: trouble. 

Satori wonders if it’s worth the effort of squeezing the details of Semi’s troubles out of him, visualizing his fist clenching a water-logged sponge. Ha! If only it were that simple.

But Semi is off to sulk in another part of the apartment before Satori can even open his mouth to leer, let alone say something kind. 

_On the bright side_ , Satori thinks, _at least he’s not force-feeding me a “special Sunday breakfast” like last week._ But it’s hardly a bright thought when it only serves to point out that something is definitely upsetting his friend. 

He almost feels guilty for slurping. 

Satori’s room is, of course, just as he left it; curtains drawn (it’s not like there’s a good view out there, anyway) and his phone sitting ominously in the middle of his bed, waiting for its owner. When he finally spurs himself to pick up the device, Satori braces himself for what he might see.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t _this_ :

**Dear Tendou-san,**

**I am nearly 23 years old and I have never told anyone that I am gay. I would like to try going on dates and having sex with other men, but because of my circumstances I am very inexperienced and lack confidence, so I would like to practice in a low-pressure setting before attempting anything I may regret.**

**I have heard that you are a full-service sex worker and might be able to help me. If this is true, I would be interested in procuring your services. I apologize if I have erred in contacting you.**

**Sincerely,**

**Ushijima Wakatoshi**

Satori wouldn’t say he’s bad with names, per se, but names are no good without a face to pair them with. Fortunately, or unfortunately, he isn’t sure, it doesn’t take long for him to realize that Ushijima Wakatoshi already has a face in his mental database. A face that he remembers remarkably well, considering that Ushijima’s face is fairly _un_ remarkable.

“ _Ugh!_ ” He groans and flops onto his back, the bed springs creaking under the impact.

On one hand, Satori could really use the funds from another regular client. On the other hand, there is something decidedly _weird_ about this situation. Maybe it’s the fact that this virtual stranger contacted him—so politely—through his personal number, or maybe it’s that this virtual stranger is, for lack of a better term, _friendly_ with Goshiki. Maybe it’s that Satori’s skull feels tight around his brain when he thinks of all the possible complications of Ushijima’s request.

He closes his eyes under the back of his hand and lets out another groan. A large part of him wants to decline the proposition, but the smaller, usually wiser part of him urges him to accept. _Don’t be reckless_ , it tells him.

The thought almost makes him laugh. What could be more reckless than allowing himself to accept a client through his _secret personal_ number? 

_Letting this chance go just because someone didn’t know how to contact you,_ his brain supplies. He gets it; he’s broke, money is important, this is an opportunity to fill his pockets, et cetera. 

_Maybe I should talk to Semi._

Satori doesn’t need to get out of bed because before he’s even decided to, his best friend is standing just outside the open door, hand partially shielding his eyes.

“You decent?” he calls, hesitant.

“The door’s open, isn’t it?”

Semi scoffs. “I’m sure that hasn’t stopped you before.” But he comes to lay on the bed next to Satori and tucks his head under Satori’s armpit. “I hope you’re not busy.”

“Comfy?” Satori japes, and strains to glance under his arm.

Semi makes no effort to return eye contact, instead choosing to gaze at the white ceiling and the paint peeling there. “I’m going to rant now.”

The beginning of the rant is just a hiccup, followed by a deadening thirty seconds of nothing more than the two of them breathing out-of-sync. Thirty seconds, as it happens, is just long enough for Satori to feel the need to check on his friend’s face—or, more accurately, his tear ducts—to make sure Semi’s eyeballs haven’t started leaking.

It’s when he strains again to check if Semi is crying that Semi opens his mouth to speak. “The guys - I just - I can’t - they aren’t people that I can spend so much time with. Being in the practice room with them is _stifling._ They all have the same, terrible sense of humour and they never shut up. They don’t take music seriously and they just want to talk and joke around instead of actually practising! And they are so fucking rude!” He pauses for a shaky breath. “I can’t _stand_ them.” He sounds bitter and tired.

“Maybe you should find another band.”

“I can’t just,” Semi scoffs. “ _Join_ another band.”

“Why not?” Satori props himself up on an elbow.

“It’s not that simple,” Semi explains. “For one, most bands don’t just accept new members out of the blue.”

Satori interjects, “Just make a new band, then.”

“No!” Semi scoffs again, incredulous. “That’s not how it works.”

“How _does_ it work?”

“It works by spending a lot of time and energy, and knowing people who also want to spend a lot of _their_ time and _their_ energy, and by harnessing luck with your bare hands so that maybe— _maybe—_ things will work out.”

“Huh.”

“Anyway, it hardly matters. I’ll figure something out eventually; I just wanted to vent.”

There’s a beat of silence as Satori nodnodnods, vigorously, so Semi can _feel_ his understanding without them even having to look at each other. Satori can tell that his friend has many more thoughts, but decides not to push his luck. _For now_ , that is.

More not-quite silence.

“I’m… also… having a problem.” Satori draws out his words in a hesitantly sing-song tone.

Semi nods solemnly, listening.

“I need help making a decision about my _business_.”

“By business do you mean your penis, or what you do with it?”

Satori snorts, surprised laughter causing spittle to fly from his lips. “First of all,” It doesn’t matter if Semi’s question was serious or not because it’s a part of Satori’s nature to make light, but he somehow still manages to sound collected when he says, “My penis makes decisions perfectly fine on its own.”

Now it’s Semi’s turn to laugh, tucking his face into Satori’s side and giggling into the shirt fabric. “ _You’re stupid,_ ” he says, and Satori hums in gleeful agreement. “Okay, sorry, I’m serious now.” Semi schools his face into a more sombre expression, which is visibly painful; the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s forcing down a smile.

“I got a message from a potential client this morning, but it’s through my personal number.”

“Oh, that _is_ serious.” Semi’s expression is genuine now, lips falling into a frown and a crease lining his forehead. He sits up to lean on his elbow. “Can you block the number? Or, I guess that won’t really help much if your number’s been leaked somehow.”

“I don’t think my number was leaked. I think someone…” _Someone being Goshiki._ “Gave it to this person without, like, realizing the implications. Does that make sense?”

“I’m more concerned about the potential consequences than whether or not there’s malicious intent.”

“I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s not malicious and I need money for next semester. I had to dip into my savings for this month’s rent.” He mumbles the last bit under his breath, diligently ignoring Semi’s pointed look. “So, that’s why I need help making a decision.”

“It’s risky.”

Satori pouts. “I _know_ , but maybe it’s a low-risk-high-reward situation?”

Semi grunts, tight-jawed and pursing his lips. “It’s not for me to decide.”

“ _Uuuuuuuuuuuuugh,_ ” Satori rolls over, so the bridge of his nose is flush with the mattress and his moan becomes muffled in the plush.

“You and your penis can make your own decisions. If you want to do it, do it, but at least respond to confirm your decision either way.” Semi makes it clear that the conversation is over by getting up and padding to the doorway. “I’m going to make brunch now. You _will_ eat it.”

“ _Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh,_ ” Satori doesn’t stop groaning into the mattress until he can hear Semi’s footsteps recede into the hallway. 

* * *

“Ahem,” Satori begins. “I understand the courage it takes to reach out, so thank you for your trust with such a personal matter.” He glances up from his phone to search for a sign of validation from Semi. “I am currently accepting new clients, but this is not my business contact. Please do not share this number with anyone else. A security breach would mean I would have to get a new number and wouldn’t be able to maintain contact with you through this number. I’m sure you understand.” 

Semi grunts in approval, still shoveling brunch into his mouth.

Satori leaves out the line that says: _‘_ **Consider my lenience on this issue a favour for a friend of a friend ;)** _’_ before continuing, “You mentioned that you want to ‘practice in a low-pressure setting.’ What are you looking for specifically? If you give me more details, I’m sure we can work something out. Once again, thank you for trusting me with your story. Signed, Satori.”

“Yeah, seems good.” Semi points to the bowl of unwanted rice sitting between Satori’s elbows on the counter. “Are you gonna finish that?”

“No, I’m full,” Satori mumbles before blowing a sigh of relief. “I sent it.”

“Good,” Semi snatches Satori’s bowl and wolfs down the last spoonfuls of rice. “I’m gonna practice now, so don’t bother me.”

Satori gives his friend a mock salute and follows suit, retreating into his own room.

Satori’s room has grown humid since the early morning. He wedges a textbook between the lip of the window and its sill to keep it open—it never stays open on its own—and turns the small electric fan on his desk onto full-blast, which is admittedly pretty pathetic. It’s nowhere near as powerful as the big white box fan at the dairy bar and Satori almost wishes it weren’t his day off, just for an excuse to shove his face into its breeze’s trajectory. 

Keyboard notes travel through the walls and seem to float around Satori’s head as he flips through the last chapter of his manga. If only Semi’s repertoire were more suited to the story; he feels the corner of his mouth curling impishly at the thought.

Satori’s whole body thrums with the heat and he pauses his reading to wipe away the sheen of sweat that coats his forehead. His matting hair clings to the back of his neck and makes him feel even greasier than he did when he first woke up. His smile fades.

_Maybe I’ll shower after this chapter_ , he thinks. It’s not likely.

It’s not likely, but he somehow manages to wrangle himself into the bathroom after a less-than-satisfactory ending. 

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Satori can still hear the music wafting through the apartment as he stares at his reflection. Two beady pupils peer at themselves from large, deep-set eyes. 

Tangled red hair falls, not quite brushing the subtle slope of his shoulders and he watches himself as he brings a hand up to twirl a strand between his fingers. He hasn’t cut it since high school, but he’s not sure if he likes it better this way, or if he’s using it to connect with a long-held rebellious streak, doing something he knows his parents would never approve of—the gelled spikes of his high school days were quite enough eccentricity for his family’s taste.

He can still remember the look of shock on his mother’s face when he first started styling it after his favourite anime character. _It’s to keep it out away from my forehead,_ he had reasoned. It was as good an excuse as any, and his acne certainly improved after he moved on from the conservative bowl cut his mother had been giving him since he was a tot.

Another part of him thinks he might keep his hair long because his clients like it. But wouldn’t that mean he’s just doing it to please other people? _What kind of rebellion is that?_

He wonders what people would say if he just shaved it all off.

He turns his attention to the faded acne scars on his forehead, ghosting his fingers over the area, not quite touching. He doesn’t break out as badly as when he was a teenager, but it’s still a problem area; he wears a ponytail most days for a reason. 

Satori smiles at his reflection, lips crooked from the crack in the mirror. If he stands just right, it splices his forehead and runs in an almost perfectly vertical line between sunken eyes, splitting his face into equal halves before deviating from its path when it reaches his mouth. 

The music stops.

If it starts up again, then it’s drowned out by the noise of the shower and Satori doesn’t hear it.

Satori loves the sound of water rushing in his ears, the feeling of hard droplets drumming on the crown of his head. He loves the smell of soap—the fruity kinds that he was never allowed to have as a kid—and the way the faded scent sticks to his skin until the world washes it away again. 

When he returns to his room, butt-naked with a towel draped over his head instead of around his waist, it’s somehow even muggier than he remembers and his feet leave sticky prints on the floor. 

His sleeping bag, usually that shiny-cold feeling on his skin, just clings to his back when he lies on the bed. It’s gross, but the heat is exhausting and he’s too tired to bother moving right now. He presses his feet to the wall in search of cool, but finds another tacky surface instead.

Satori isn’t surprised to see a response from Ushijima already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think of this chapter, and subscribe for updates if you like so far! (Any guesses who M could be?) 
> 
> Comments and kudos are super appreciatedヽ(o♡o)/ I also figured out how to use Twitter, so come befriend me, [say hi](https://twitter.com/lilleeboi), and talk to me about Autistic/ND Haikyuu!!
> 
> Have a great day <3

**Author's Note:**

> I've never posted a multi-chapter fic while it's still a work in progress before, but I'm trying something new in the hopes of giving myself the motivation to continue.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! If you did, please feel free to let me know in the comments what you thought worked well!


End file.
